Revenge
by suffering artist MD
Summary: The daughter of wile, picks up the torch from her now dead father and runs...from ACME. first story, Read and Review, flames welcome.


REVENGE

BEGINNING WITH ENDINGS

PROLOGUE

she sat there at the grave of her father, hands covered with dirt and thought, a lifetime….a whole lifetime, wasted…the chase of decades all for nothing. He died with a broken heart. Standing, she brushed the dirt of his desert coffin onto her jeans and looked into the crimson mesa sky and made a vow. Revenge. The roadrunner will pay….for today the legacy of Wile E. Coyote has been passed on….

Catastrophe Coyote will not fail.

She turned and walked down the highway, towards he cave that had been her home these nineteen years. In two hours walk she would sit at her fathers desk and begin plans that may very well consume her life as it did her fathers. She did have two things going in her favor, one…the Roadrunner did not yet know of her presence as it did her younger brother, Calamity. Two…she had a lifetime account with ACME, thanks to her fathers purchases she never had to worry about paying. As their best client they gave him a special dispensation, in return for his advertising he never had to pay for his use of the products. She had found this out as her father lay dying at his bed, clutching a plan….another plan…..the old fool….that would have more likely than not ended with either a boulder, anvil or shattered piece of mesa rock on his head, or a flight 1,200 feet to the mesa floor below. Smiling sadly, remembering his last moments, scared face, hands mangled with arthritis, the once bright eyes filled with fire, now covered with milky cataracts. His body, once lean and hard, now wracked with constant pain from years of running into stone walls, falls off cliffs, and being hit by cars, trucks and trains. His mind though, never lost it's edge….up to the minute he died, he was constantly working out a way to catch that blasted bird and validate his life's pursuit. That day she heard faint mumbling coming from his bed, " square root of the…of the…..the…..tangent…no, co-tangent…multiplied by…..64 feet per second, per second…tensile strength…..Daughter! To me!"

She dropped the lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate milk that she was making for him. Genius food is what her father called it. Running into the bedroom she knelt by his side. "Yes father?". Blindly looking in her direction he spoke, his voice deep and sonorous, "My little one, I lay dying. I need you to continue where I stop. As you know I am a coyote of few words and sometimes disastrous actions. I have just one request, revenge." His voice grew fierce and he grabbed her by the wrist, almost breaking it, the grip like steel that his muscles once were. "Kill the Roadrunner!…..KILL….the…..the…the…Wile E. Coyote….no…..Catastrophe Coyote….Super genius…". Smiling warmly, he closed his eyes for the last time, still holding onto his daughters arm, and died. Burying her head in tears on his still warm chest she wept, smelling his fur, the smell that would always remind her of him….gunpowder. wiping the tears from her face, she picked him up and cradled him in her arms. As she turned to walk away a scrap of paper fell from his limp hand, turning she looked down. Another damn plan, looking closer she deduced that this one would have killed him anyway. A electromagnet run by a ACME nuclear reactor. Turned on by a pressure sensitive plate to pull down an 747 when the roadrunner bent down to peck at the birdseed on top of the plate. The setting for the magnet was all wrong, the fuselage would have landed on his head, while the space betwen the wing and the main body would spare the roadrunner from any harm. She then carried him to his favorite thinking spot, some six miles distant and buried him. Still walking down the highway that twisted along the cliffs and caves that covered her desert home, she listened to the sounds of the oncoming night. The wild howling dully through the sedimentary rock, grinding it down and making the odd shapes that filled her life and her fathers with beauty.

Her boots made hollow clap, clock, clap, clock sounds as she walked back into her fathers cave and sat down at the kitchen table. Looking down she saw the lunch she made him, now half a day cold. Picking it up she put it in the microwave, watching as it spun around on it's little turntable. Sitting in her fathers chair, eating her fathers lunch, she realized, she was her fathers' daughter. Crawling into her fathers bed, she slept, tomorrow she would begin a quest…..

For revenge.

Chapter One

New day dawning.

The sunlight did not wake her, she was already awake to great it's rays as they streamed into the cave's opening. As she had gotten out of bed that morning she had slipped on the plan that she had looked over the night before. Rising, pride bruised more than body, she picked up the plan and found herself looking at the opposite side where she found in her fathers writing, " Dearest daughter, carry on. 555-6650". Puzzled she sat down at the kitchen table and dialed the phone and waited. After six or so rings the phone connected and her fathers voice came to her, " Catastrophe, I must be buried if you are calling this number, I hope you will carry on my work and catch and cook that fucking bird. I want you to go to 1245 industrial plank road and go into warehouse No .17 you will find what you need to start your own journey, but take heed, you may not be able to trust ACME, they never brought me anything but trouble, but I fixed them and that alone will help you. Remember you are _my _daughter and I will always love you very much, my little super genius. Love Dad.

Tears coursed down her face, she hung up the phone. Wiping her face she went into the small bathroom and showered. Drying her fur she went to her room and dressed, as usual, jeans, just tight enough to accentuate her long shapely legs, boots durable enough to walk miles in and not tire her feet, and a white T-shirt to cover her proportionate chest. Tying her hair back with a rawhide thong she walked into the garage and sat down on her fathers 1988 Harley-Davidson Springer Softail. This one vehicle hand never let him down. She remembered them working long hours restoring it, she often picked out the mistakes his mind never thought to look for. That is why, she thought, it works, they both built it. Reaching down she turned the gas on for the modified 102 cubic inch big twin and placing her knee on the seat and her other foot on the kickstarter, kicked as hard as she could. Her hand holding the throttle half way open the engine roared to life, loud and strong. Getting her leather jacket and chaps off of the sissybar the buckled and zipped her way into them. Putting her fathers bike….no…_her_ bike into gear she roared off into the mid-morning sun.

About mid afternoon hunger had begun to gnaw louder than she was able to ignore and pulling into a popular roadside diner seamed to be the best way to solve her dilemma. Dismounting her ride she strode into the diner, various species there sitting at various booths or seats at the counter. Striding up to the countertop she sat down, far enough from an arrogant looking fox that she hoped would not notice her. The waitress, a middle aged rabbit whose ears were pinned back for work asked what she would like this morning. "Coffee, and uh…." Looking down at the greasy menu, " Arizona omelet and some waffles, heavy on the butter and syrup." The waitress made a remark that a breakfast like that would do little to keep her figure the way it was. Catastrophe remarked back, she had a feeling that she would get a work-out in a little while. The waitress shook her head and gave the order to the cook, a bear who actually smiled at her from the greasy pit that they used as a kitchen. Catastrophe just gave him an empty look and turned her eyes back to the menu. Smiling softly, she remembered the first time her father took her here. It had been after another disastrous failure, once again the Roadrunner had eluded him and the injuries had been to pride more than body. Although she had discovered through sneaking through her fathers things, he was already taking powerful painkillers just to function. She remembered that day, as she sat at the booth waiting for her breakfast, standing there with a bottle of codeine half full in her little hand, and looking at a drawer full of it's empty children. She was broken out of her reverie when the waitress neatly dropped her breakfast in front of her with a loud CLANK! Looking up at the waitress she thanked her dryly for her breakfast. Unrolling her utensils from the thin napkin she began to neatly dissect her breakfast, always cutting the waffles 4 squares by 5, until just the curves remained. Cutting those in half she ate them with her omelet.

Sipping on the last of her coffee and mentally preparing to leave, the fox she had been ignoring sat down beside her. "Hey gorgeous, did Monet, paint those legs? 'cause they sure are a work of art, mind if I do an appraisal?" doing her best to stay calm she looked into her coffee, "Listen buddy, I've had a hard day, I just buried my father and don't feel like being around anyone, but thanks anyway". The fox's feigned concern was almost believable, "jeeze babe, sorry to hear that, who was your father?" still looking into her coffee Catastrophe said, "Wile E. Coyote.". The fox burst out laughing so loud the other patrons looked to see what he was laughing at. Holding on to the counter for support the fox spoke, " Oh you mean the suuuuper geeeenius, hell I could have caught that damn bird if I wanted to, shit he was dumber than a box of rocks.". Counting to ten she looked at him and said " you have three seconds to walk away and I suggest you take them, life is full of little gifts, this is my gift to you." the fox was looking at her eyes slightly confused but still wet from laughter. Giggling at her he spoke three syllables that co-incited with three of his fingers popping up and being subsequently broken " box-o-rocks" . grabbing the foxes fingers she bent and twisted, they broke with a wet snapping sound and the fox screamed high and piercingly. moving her grip to his wrist she extended his arm placing a hand against his elbow, swinging him over the countertop and sending him thumping painfully to the diner floor. whimpering in pain through a mouth full of broken teeth all the fox could do was babble " waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait". leaning down to where the fox was she took hold of the wrist with the broken fingers and slowly brought it up behind the foxes back at an angle that body was not meant to experience. she knew her technique must be good because the fox voiced his opinion loudly. Crouching down, but still holding the arm at that fine angle she spoke softly to the fox, " You would have done better to accept my little gift, but instead, I will give you another….."

Placing her foot against his shoulder and his wrist in the crook of her arm she stood up, bringing his shattered wrist a little more than one-hundred and ten degrees behind his back. she was immediately rewarded with a series of gristly wet snaps and pops as his lower arm, upper arm and shoulder broke. The fox, past any form of screaming simply spasmd(SP) on the dinner floor before losing consciousness. All this had taken place in the span of about twelve seconds. looking around at the patrons of the diner she saw shock and terror. Shaking her head at them she said " I love my father, others of you would do well to remember that." walking up to the waitress who was cowering behind the cash register she left a $20 bill and walked out. The cook had seen everything and had known what was coming. Leaping out from the kitchen and grabbing the sawed off shotgun from underneath the cash register. looking at the diner full of patrons who were starting to come up from their hiding places, he spoke " Listen to me now, NOBODY SAW NUTHIN!, anyone I find who ever says different takes a dirtnap!" Grabbing the fox by the collar he hoisted him up and into a booth. dousing him with a customers orange juice brought him back to consciousness. The fox began to cry immediately, but stopped when he saw the two barrels of the shotgun filling his vision. "You, my very foolish friend had an accident, you slipped on a waffle and….. went….. boom…" the last two words punctuated by the cocking of both shotgun barrels. "…..understand?" The fox nodded and spoke quietly " I fell" The cook smiled. " good boy…..now drive yourself to the hospital and I never want to see your stupid ass in my place again."

Walking back and replacing the shotgun, the cook walked outside to where Catastrophe was reclining against her motorcycle having a cigarette. She silently offered the cook, whose name is Joe, a cigarette from her pack, which he took in equal silence. lighting it from his own lighter, he inhaled and smiled. He had known Catastrophe since she was old enough to walk, because she frequently helped her father stand up and sit down in the booths of the diner. Watching her grow, no flourish in the presence of her father. Both there, leaning against the motorcycle, shared a moment, a brief moment where talking is not needed, just the company of a friend and the unspoken bond they share. Flicking his butt out onto the red dirt parking lot he spoke to her, " you're learning mercy Cassia, You could have done a lot worse and been right. I loved him too. Tell you what, how's a bout I add grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate milk to the menu? call it the Super Genius platter? Cassia?" she turned to face Joe, the fur on her cheeks wet with tears, he saw this and drew her to him. She erupted into great wracking sobs that seemed to consume her lithe form till the grief poured from her. She clung to him and cried till she was done, till the pain lessened to a point that she could control it and force it down. Looking at Joe, she spoke in a voice still very unsteady. " Oh god Joe I miss him, how can I do it alone? how can I go on without him, just knowing he's not there it's almost more than I can bear." Joe said nothing, for he knew nothing would ever be enough to comfort her, all he could do was lend all the support that she would take from him and let her be when she needed it. Joe just looked at her and smiled, " He wanted you to go on, to do whatever you wanted to do in your life, not just be a continuation of his. He gave you the myriad of possibilities that he never had. just between you and me, he was thrilled that you wanted to be like him when you grew up." chuckling softly, Joe continued " lucky for you, you're a little smarter than he was, speaking of that, hold on I have something for you, be right back." She watched as Joe walked back into the diner she lit up another cigarette while waiting for him to return. halfway though her cigarette he returned carrying a large item wrapped up in a oil stained red cloth. Joe stopped and handed it to her. accepting the item she opened the cloth to find the double barrel shotgun Joe kept under the cash register. Catastrophe looked up at Joe uncertainly. "you sure I'm gonna need this Joe?" Joe nodded and replied " cassia there are some things only a double barrel ten gauge shotgun will solve, I call it the alley cleaner, it removes all the trash from your immediate vicinity."

Wiping the tears away she smiled at Joe, always there for her like her father before her. "Thanks for always being there Joe, but now I have to go , I have a job to do so my father can rest in peace." Joe nodded and spoke through a smile, " bring me a wing will you Cassia?" "Sure thing Joe." she walked away and began the chore of starting the motorcycle, when it roared into life she put it into gear and rolled towards 1245 industrial plank road.


End file.
